Major League Baseball fans with minor league standards
By C.T. Rossi
web posted August 19, 2002
Can there be a better measure for American culture than the
Great American Pastime itself? For the past three decades,
Major League Baseball has, sadly, created more headlines
through court cases, strikes and lock-outs than almost anything
that has happened on the field; the exception has been the assault
on baseball's season home run record over recent seasons.
It has been said that Americans finally "came back to baseball"
during the dramatic home run derby in 1998 between sluggers
Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa. Both men eclipsed Roger
Maris' former mark of 61 - with McGwire winning the home run
crown at 70.
But McGwire's reign as home run king was short-lived, as last
year San Francisco Giant Barry Bonds leap-frogged McGwire
with a tally of 73 round-trippers.
While the statistics of baseball are of interest only to die-hard
diamond watchers, what should catch our notice is what
happened to the actual home run balls and the people who
caught them. McGwire's 70th home run ball was auctioned off
by the fan who caught it for $ 2.7 million. It was at that moment
that record-breaking home run balls ceased to be novelty items
and became horsehide lottery tickets up for grabs in ball park
bleachers.
When Charles Murphy caught Barry Bonds' 70th home run ball
(to tie Mark McGwire's home run record), he rejected an
immediate offer of $100,000 from Houston furniture magnate
Jim McIngvale, describing the offer as "ridiculous." Instead
Murphy decided to bring his leather and stitching treasure to
auction. But Murphy's tactic backfired and the tying home run
fetched only $52,500.
Bonds' record-setting 73rd home run ball emerged as a source
of great controversy when ownership was disputed by two
bleacher denizens. Alex Popov, who initially caught the ball but
lost control of it when he was mobbed by other fans, filed a law
suit against Patrick Hayashi - who emerged from the scrum with
the coveted prize. The two sides have not been able to reach a
compromise.
Bonds' 500th home run was less controversial and more
profitable. The Bond blast landed out on the ball park confines
and in the Pacific Ocean where Joe Figone, in an inflatable
power boat, scooped the ball from the water with a hand-held
fishing net. Figone, with undisputed ownership, immediately
began negotiations with Bonds himself for a home run payday
bonanza.
On August 9, Barry Bonds hit his 600th home run. Instead of
signaling home run, the umpire should have shouted out, "Let's
get ready to rumble."
Jay Arsenault, a 36-year-old carpenter, caught the ball but was
instantaneously swarmed by fellow fans. By the time Pacific Bell
Park security staff rescued Arsenault from the dog-pile, he was
bloody, bruised and beaten - but still in possession of the ball.
In an idealized world, Arsenault's catch might have had some
altruistic leitmotif. Perhaps such a sub-plot would feature a sick
child inspired back to health by the Bonds' blast - such is the
stuff of baseball lore. And it appears that lore is the only place to
find such a tale nowadays. When asked what he planned to do
with the historic souvenir, Arsenault replied, "Money talks."
However, fate did not leave the story of Bonds' 600th home
runner without a sense of irony. Bonds, a player of
unquestionable talent but whose brash demeanor has earned him
a reputation for being a prima donna, might have hit the ball to
his hubristic soul-mate.
With anything but modesty, Arsenault told reporters, "I'm a
carpenter and I can't think of a person who deserves this more
than me. I've been getting up early and going to work for a long
time." A long time? Arsenault is 36 years old. When a reporter
asked Arsenault if he had a dollar figure in mind for No. 600, he
replied: "I don't know. Got an offer?"
Are there any doubts that the avarice of baseball ownership and
baseball players has finally trickled its way down to the very fans
themselves? To be at an historic baseball event, to see a game of
beauty and grace executed at the highest level is no longer
enough. The beauty of baseball, the sense of escape to a more
perfect world within the confines of the diamond, is gone.
Today's baseball fan asks the same question that today's
baseball club owner and big league player does: What can the
game do for me? There was a simpler time in America when the
opposite mindset was operative, when the operative thought was
whether someone could bring anything to the national pastime of
baseball. Like the single-season home run record of Roger
Maris, those days are gone forever.
C.T. Rossi writes on contemporary culture and politics for the
Free Congress Foundation (http://www.freecongress.org).
Enter Stage Right - http://www.enterstageright.com